THE CONTRACT BRIDE’S REVENGE

Chapter 5: Clock is ticking

OLIVIA’S POV

I didn’t sleep that night.

Not even close.

I sat in that hospital chair with my phone face up on my lap, staring at the messages like they were going to disappear if I looked away long enough. The words kept replaying in my head over and over again. He knew my father’s name. He knew the hospital. He knew the room number. He knew things that nobody should have known unless they had been watching me for a while.

That thought alone made my skin crawl.

I looked up at my father. He was asleep, chest rising and falling slowly beneath the thin hospital blanket. He looked so small in that bed. So fragile. This was not the same man who used to pull me onto his back and run through the yard just to hear me laugh. This was not the man who stayed up all night whenever I had a fever, pressing a cold cloth to my forehead and singing off-key until I fell asleep.

He looked like he was fading.

And I was sitting here with nothing. No money. No plan. Just an anonymous number on my screen and a message that felt more like a threat than an invitation.

Be at St. Laurent Lounge. 12PM.

My hands were shaking when I read it again. I pressed them flat against my thighs trying to make them stop.

Who was this man? How did he know all of this? Was he watching me? Had he been watching me this whole time?

I didn’t have answers. I didn’t even know the right questions to ask. All I knew was that my father’s doctor had given me a deadline, and this stranger on my phone was the only person who had said anything close to help.

That terrified me more than anything else.

I barely remember getting ready the next morning.

I remember standing in front of the small mirror in the hospital bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and telling myself to hold it together. Just for today. Just long enough to find out what this man actually wanted.

The taxi ride was quiet. I kept my hands folded in my lap and watched the city move past the window, trying to breathe normally.

St. Laurent Lounge sat on the kind of street that already made you feel underdressed just walking toward it. Everything about the building was deliberate. Clean glass, polished stone, the kind of quiet that money buys.

I barely had both feet on the pavement when a man in a dark suit stepped forward.

He was large. Broad shoulders, blank expression, eyes that scanned me once and decided I was exactly who he was looking for.

“Miss Olivia.” His voice was flat and certain. “My boss is expecting you. Please come with me.”

He turned before I could respond.

I almost laughed. Almost.

No hello. No name. Nothing.

The whole thing felt wrong in a way I could not fully explain. But I followed him anyway because what other choice did I have.

The private room was nothing like I expected. It looked less like a lounge and more like something out of a magazine. Dark furniture that probably cost more than a year of my rent. A television mounted on the far wall so large it looked architectural. Two champagne glasses sat on the centre table catching the light, untouched and perfectly placed.

I turned to the bodyguard.

“When is your boss arriving? I left my father alone at the hospital. I need to get back soon.”

“Please have a seat, Miss Olivia. He will be here shortly.”

I didn’t sit. I stood with my arms crossed and my eyes on the door because sitting felt like surrendering and I was not ready to do that yet.

Then the door opened.

He walked in like the room already belonged to him before he entered it. Tall. Dark curled hair. A black suit fitted so well it looked like it was made specifically to make people feel small standing next to him. He carried a black briefcase in one hand and set it on the table without looking at me, snapping it open with the kind of calm that only came from someone who had never once been desperate a day in his life.

Then he looked at me.

“Sit down, Miss Bennett.”

Not a suggestion.

I sat. Mostly because my legs made the decision before my pride could argue.

“I am Jaden Parker.” He settled into the chair across from me like he had all the time in the world. “I imagine you have questions about why I asked you here. I heard what happened with your ex fiancé. He left you for_”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Adrian.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. Good. I held his gaze and didn’t flinch.

Something shifted in his expression. No offense. Amusement.

“I didn’t know you were quick to anger.”

I pushed my chair back and stood up.

He didn’t move. Didn’t raise his voice. Just said it quietly.

“You leave, your father dies.”

My legs stopped working.

Three words. That was all it took. Three words and every bit of fight I had walked in with collapsed straight to the floor. I stood there for a second with my back halfway turned, hating him for saying it and hating myself more for knowing he was right.

I sat back down.

This time I didn’t cross my arms. I just looked at him and said, “What do I have to do to save my father?”

He studied me for a moment. Unhurried. Like he was deciding how much to give me at once.

“Simple,” he said finally. “You save your father. You gain access to a comfortable life. All of it in exchange for two years of your time.”

I frowned. “Two years of my time doing what exactly?”

He reached into the briefcase and slid a file across the table toward me. A pen was clipped neatly to the cover.

“Marry me.”

The words landed so cleanly. So calmly. Like he had just suggested we split a bill.

I stared at him.

“I don’t— “ I stopped. Started again. “Marry you? I don’t even know you. I just got out of a six year relationship three days ago. What are you talking about?”

“It is simple, Miss Bennett.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice even. “You need my help. I need yours. No emotions attached. No complications. You remain loyal to me for two years and you walk away free with every debt cleared.”

He paused.

“Look at the facts. Adrian betrayed you without a single warning. You found out on his wedding day. You know him better than anyone. That information is useful to me.” His eyes stayed steady on mine. “And you need money you do not have. This arrangement solves both problems at once.”

My hand went cold against the table.

I knew he was right. That was the worst part. I had no one. No backup plan. No savings account hiding somewhere that I had forgotten about. Nothing. Just a sick father and a doctor’s deadline and this man sitting across from me with a file and a pen and the audacity to look completely unbothered.

“Miss Bennett.” His voice softened just slightly. Just enough. “The clock is ticking.”

I looked down at the file.

“Two years,” he said. “Your problems disappear. You get paid. You live comfortably.” A beat. “All I need is your name and signature on that paper.”

The champagne glasses sat between us untouched. The room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

I thought about my father’s face last night when he told me I was carrying too much alone.

I thought about the doctor’s voice.

We may have to discharge him.

Then I picked up the pen.